


I Refuse To Use That Word, But I Will This Time

by killajokejosie



Series: The Letters I Write [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Children, Domestic Violence, Established Relationship, Explaining, M/M, Not Happy, POV Sherlock Holmes, Parenthood, Past Violence, Possessive Jim, True Love, perfectly damaged, writing letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killajokejosie/pseuds/killajokejosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple, awful explanation of how someone who claimed he could not fall in love did so with the one person that drove him to a literal edge. He tries to make it rational, so that his future child understands the madness surrounding the World's Only Consulting Detective and the World's Only Consulting Criminal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Refuse To Use That Word, But I Will This Time

**Author's Note:**

> American, no beta, is what it is...written simply to get me out of writer's block.

I do not use the word perfection when describing other individuals. I do not believe the small minded people in the world can be anything close to perfect. His perfection, however, I guess that was what had always sort of bothered me. Men, especially, were not supposed to be perfect. Men were not supposed to be soft and flawless. He was. And, I was unfortunately past the point of simply noticing on a casual level.

That was not to say that I had not noticed that he had edges. I do not believe there to be a human on this earth who does not have some of the very sharpest, this due to the many people I had encountered in my life who were most definitely awful people. His sharpness, his edges, were far overshadowed by his strangely smooth appearance. Though he shook me and had been the only one who could, he never scared me in a physical sense. He was perfect even despite the fact that he was permanently pegged as a career criminal. 

I think he stole me with his gaze. No, for our eyes had met before I became so intrigued by him, before I knew his name, it could not have actually been his gaze. Though, his intelligent eyes were very hard to forget, that much I could say was true. 

As I recall, even upon first impressions of him, I could not understand or grasp what it was about him that my brain latched onto. The motives lodged deep in the most dark places in my mind. It is no lie that I find him perfect in many ways, but he was a most terrible human being and on the inside he probably always would be. He was horrible in the same way that my one true friend represents all that is good in this world. It is a shame my vessel was drawn to the same person who had sought out to destroy me and everything I had worked so hard to become. 

His voice was, is, beautiful as well. I cannot say that was always the case from the beginning of our strange relationship. It certainly was not. Still, even when his strangely pitched voice was filled with malice, not the love I have come to recognise, I wanted only to hear him talk. Interestingly enough, once upon a time, his tone was nothing more than an annoyance. 

I knew what I was getting into. Do not let anyone ever tell you otherwise, or even tell you that you cannot do what you think is right. I knew from our first encounter that there was something a bit not right about him. I knew he was trouble. I might have even been able to stop him from close range before any of the insanity started when he slipped me his phone number during the whole ordeal where he pretended to see my dear friend, Molly Hooper. I have a wonderful attention to detail. I see everything, but reacted to nothing. My inability to shoot him down in his tracks proves I am probably just as demented as he. 

Before I get to off topic, before this becomes an essay about something completely irrelevant, I will get to my final and truthfully only point. His hands. More specifically, his cool touch. The first time his hand, the right one to be one hundred percent exact, caressed my cheek without the painful sting of a slap I knew that my life was never going to be the same. With that one touch I knew that we were the same, but I did not care to admit it at that moment.

With that same touch he was able to assert complete control over me. It has not wavered to this day. It never would. 

One might ask as time moves forward if the constant hematoma and the contusions that appear after are worth it. I will answer the same every single time. I love him. He completes me. Each hit is better than the last, better than a kiss any average man could ever give me. Our love is violent, but it is beautiful. It is confusing, but there is not a love I have ever witnessed that is not just that. Our love translates into something wonderful and that is you. You are much too young to understand it all just yet, but I assure you a time will come when you will. 

When you find yourself falling in love, marrying off, and even having children with that love then you may indeed believe that not all is crazy. 

Love forever and always, S.H, the more human of your parents.


End file.
